


Stan and Rick Roadtrip

by i_eat_men_like_air



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: 70s, Alcohol, M/M, Minimal Sci-fi Shit, More tags to be added, Queer Characters, Roadtrip, The Stanmobile, bisexual rick sanchez, cautious bisexual stan pines, rick's hair is a mystery, stanchez, updating slowly but surely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:32:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7922377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_eat_men_like_air/pseuds/i_eat_men_like_air
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan meets Rick. They go on a roadtrip. It gets kinda kinky and kinda depressing at time but hey, that's relatable, am I right ladies?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rail Yard

**Author's Note:**

> Question marks signify a time switch, asterisks signify a break that's not really worth a new chapter.

'Ah shit'  
Stan fumbled around for the door handle, eyes squinting against the early morning light. His head was throbbing and his back felt like someone had stuck a knife in it and started to twist. Through it all he could see the smoke rising up from the bonnet of the car, throwing out a smell that made him gag as he finally collapsed onto the gravel of the car park he'd fallen asleep in, right onto the boots of a tall, shifty looking guy with what looked like green drool running from a smirking mouth down onto his chin.  
'H-h-hey buddy! H-hey -urp- p-p-pal! What-whatcha doin' down there?'

  
Today was not going well.

                                                                                                                      ???

It was all a bit of a blur; after being chased out of the city by a bunch of gun-for-hire types and high-tailing it down Christ knows how many highways and back-roads Stan'd finally found The Rail Yard, a shady looking joint with cheap, shitty whisky and music loud enough for him not to have to concentrate on the recently disastrous turn his life had taken. Jeez it was a shitshow, who knew that selling crap hair dye (Stan Dye: Hair to _Dye_  For) would cause such a huge fucking avalanche of turds to fall all over him and his best laid plans.  
Right now though, he was determined to just drink it away using as many of the crumpled up dollar bills in his wallet as his (generally lax) conscience would let him. This sort of thing happened a lot: him, chased out of town; no friends; no steady job; a heap of cash that nine times out of ten he'd immediately spend. Generally he was okay with it, with his lack of ties and reasons to miss the places he got kicked out of or arrested in. Sure it was a pain to up and leave every few months, frantically clutching his bills and few possessions, but it meant he was free to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, a sentiment that he often thought defined him as a person and seperated him from the other schmucks out there in the world.  
Tonight was one of those nights where he wasn't okay with it. He huffed to himself over his drink, life really was a shitshow, hell, show him someone whose luck was worse than his and he'd eat his goddamn boots, laces and all. As he sipped the whisky (bottom shelf stuff, 'cause let's face it, no-one has time for that fancy top shelf crap, especially on his budget) he reflected on what'd gotten him here, on the decisions (poor ones), and mistakes (regular ones) that meant all he owned was a red El Diablo and a handful of trinkets with some distant, near-forgotten meaning to them, plus a collection of grubby white tank tops and other assorted clothes. He thought about Ford as the barkeep pushed over his third drink of the evening, his nerdy, scrawny twin brother whose life he had summarily ruined along with his own, over one dumb mistake. Poor bastard, he missed him a lot of the time, missed the banter and stupid adventures they used to get up to before that night in the school hall. Most of all he missed having someone he could talk to, talk properly too, y'know, about life and feelings and dreams and shit, rather than just letting the usual bullshit spiel of a conman run off his tongue.  
'Ugh'.  
He threw the drink down his throat, grimacing a bit as it burnt it's way down, but feeling better when the warmth started to pool in his stomach, heating up limbs that has been frozen from the winter wind until that point. Jeez it was cold out there, not the sort of biting wind you'd expect from the season, but just a neverending, icy cold breeze that had frozen Stan right to his core. That was partially the reason he was chucking down drinks so fast, he needed to warm the fuck up and start planning his next scheme; nothing good ever came from freezing his balls off alone in the Diablo. It was mainly that, he kept telling himself, Christ, he wasn't quite ready to combat all the other shit going on in his head, not until at least drink five.

                                                                                                                       ???

Stan squinted up at this new obstacle to fixing his car. He managed to grunt out another curse before his neck gave up and landed him face first in the gravel. Again.

'Urm-urp-hey man, y-you need a -urp- hand th-there?'

The taller man had crouched down next to Stan now (that green stuff did not look natural), and was staring intensely into his eyes.

'Ugh, yeah, sure pal,' Stan figured he'd need at least two hands to help get him up out of the grit and off of the stranger's boots. This new guy seized him roughly by the wrists and dragged him up, impressive really, given how skinny the dude was compared to Stan.

'R-r-rough night -urp- there buddy?'

'Uh, yeah, yeah I guess so'

Stan was just confused now, people didn't just help out other people 'cause they looked like they could use it, with not ulterior motives, did they? And when had his car stopped smoking?

'Uh-uh you -urp- you noticed that didcha?'

 

_Shit, had he said that out loud?_

 

'Uh yeah, it was smoking like a sumbitch when I woke up man, I don't suppose you saw what happened to stop that?'

The new guy's smirk got even wider at this.

'Yeah -urp- w-well I-I-I figured ya'know, a d-d-damsel -urp- in distress li-like yourself m-m-m-might appreciate -urp- having his car fixed y-y-y'know? One -urp- one less thing to worry about.'

Two things hit Stan at this point. One: 'damsel in distress'. Yeesh. Two: why was this guy hellbent on helping him out? None of it made sense and to make it worse, the dude pressed a pack of painkillers into his left hand, and a huge cup of coffee into his right.

'G-g-get them -urp- get them down you man, th-they'll help y-y-y-y'know'

Okay this was really weird.

'Hey man, not that I don't appreciate you fixin' my car and all but, um, what're you doing? Why're you helping me dude? I don't know you', Stan ran a hand through his hair, and looked sheepishly up at the guy.

And again with that wide fucking smirk.

'W-well -urp- between you and me -urp- princess, I-I kind of need a ri-ri-ride, I need a ride, yeah. And hon-honestly, between -urp- between you and twitchy-McGee over there,' the guy gestured wildly at a shady Transit van with a shadier looking guy behind the wheel, 'I -urp- I figured you, y-y-y-y'know, Mister C-cu-cute-but-Hungover,' he waved his hand up and down in Stan's direction, '-urp- was th-th-the best bet'.

Stan was at a loss, okay sure, a guy needing a ride is fair enough, but being called a damsel, a _princess_ and cute in the space of five minutes by a total stranger was enough to confuse the shit out of even the smartest guy around. And Stan was definitely not that guy.


	2. In Which Rick's Hair is Ridiculous and Stan is Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idiots getting to know each other better. I spent about 5 minutes looking for the right shade of blue to describe Rick's hair. What've I become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon that younger!Rick is super fussy over his hair

'-urp- h-hey man, don't-don't suppose you've g-g-got -urp- a lighter I could borrow?'

Yep, Stan had decided to take his new buddy with him. On a trip. He wasn't really sure where they were going, but said buddy didn't seemed bothered by that, which Stan figured was a blessing. The guy had (finally) introduced himself as Rick Sanchez, scientist, inventor, punk rocker, general all round party guy and most importantly (in Stan's eyes at least) possessor of many plans which involved them getting shitfaced, laid and rich, not necessarily in that order.

'H-h-hey man, Earth to dozy -urp- beauty', Rick was staring at the shorter man, waving his arms around in front of his face. Stan'd switched off from what he was saying, crap.

'Yeah, what's up pal?'

'Lighter? Y-y-you have one?', he hadn't stopped staring but at least the flailing had stopped.

Stan blinked a couple of times and willed his brain to come back online, 'Yeah man, in the glove box, help yaself'.

The thinner man popped open the compartment and fumbled around the miscellaneous crap in there until he found the lighter, pulled out two long, thin cigarettes from God knows where, proceeded to stick them both in his mouth and light them simultaneously.

'H-h-here -urp- here ya go cutie', he promptly stuck one between Stan's lips and winked while he did it.

'Gee, th-thanks', Stan grinned despite himself as he exhaled the pale smoke out the open window. Even while he did this he sighed inwardly, 'cutie'? What kind of a guy figured that calling a total stranger 'cutie' was a good idea? He glanced to his right, from a distance (or through a hungover daze), the guy might pass for normal, but if you got closer, or sobered up around him, it was a whole different story. Sure, he was a tall fella, lanky even; all arms and legs, but that wasn't the most striking thing about him. No, that honour went to his mussed up, clearly fussed over, electric blue hair, that stuck up haphazardly in a way that must have taken hours to organise. He moved his eyes back to the road, geez it was misty now, he didn't know how many hours they'd been driving but in all honesty he was pretty happy just to sit and listen to Rick ramble on about whatever shit was on his mind from one minute to the next, punctuated by his stutter and random 'urps' while he flung his hands around to illustrate whatever whacky idea had just sprung into that blue covered skull.

'And -urp- and then that was when she threw me off of the boat I-I-I I mean, shit man, w-who even does that? Invites -urp- a guy onto her private fuckin' boat and then g-g-g-g-ets all pissy when I try to make a move like, w-what's up with that? I don't -urp- I don't fuckin' understand chicks sometimes man, th-they're -urp- th-th-they're just…', Rick paused for a minute and took a drag on the cigarette he'd had clamped between his fingers.

'Not guys?', Stan interjected, chuckling to himself.

'E-e-exactly man! E-fucking-zactly!', Rick burst out laughing at that point, running his spare hand through his shock of hair, 'Mind you,' he took another drag of the cigarette, 'guys aren't much -urp- aren't much better, I mean, I mean we're p-pretty, pretty fucked up too dude!'

Stan laughed at this as well, what a fucking kook, 'I guess so pal, hey, you aiming for anywhere in the long run? Like have you got a place to go?'

Rick started staring at him again, dark eyes squinting as Stan started squirming.

'Not really man, I-I'm more kinduva like -urp- like a free spirit ya know? Like -urp- go where I feel like, a-and right now, right now I feel like chilling with my new pal. Th-that, that's you by the way, y-you're my new pal. Just-justincase that -urp- that wasn't clear.'

Now it was Stan's turn to stare. This guy was nuts. He sighed again.

'Whaddya mean man?'

'W-w-well, like -urp- wherever you go pal, I-I'm enjoying this lil' trip just f-f-f-fine -urp- so like, wherever you wanna go man, wherever you wanna go I'm -urp- I'm pretty chill with that yeah,I-I-I mean -urp- I mean you're pretty, pretty cute too man and like, I c-c-can't go leaving my damsel in distress now can I'' Rick grinned at him through the haze of cigarette smoke, lips thinning out even more to show shiny, jagged teeth.

Stan swallowed, this guy was confusing the hell out of him, and damn did he look good in the fading light. Shit. Shit. Fuckin' shit. Yep he'd thought that, that was a thing he had thought. Yep. Damn it. Like sure, he'd been on a bit of a dry streak but hell if he was gonna start crushing on the rando he'd picked up in some sleazy parking lot. He swallowed again.

'Sure man, mi coche es tu coche I guess,' what even was that, Spanish? He figured it was Spanish. He also figured that pretty soon, he'd need to find a grip, and firmly grab hold of it.

 


	3. In Which Rick Proposes a Drinking Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this is going but let's face it, there's probably going to be gay shit pretty soon.

By the time they found a quiet looking place to sleep, the sun was barely visible on the horizon and the moon was shining, soft and pale, in the inky sky. Stan never put much pay to sleeping in motels, why sleep in some overpriced, bug-infested room when you could just sleep in the Stanmobile, with its distinct lack of cockroaches, unidentifiable stains (he knew _exactly_ what each stain in his car was), and uncomfortable beds. Rick seemed pretty happy with the arrangement too ('I guess this -urp- means we can snuggle for warmth, h-h-hey big guy!'). Stan'd had to look away after that comment, he was blushing like a high-schooler, jeez.

So he'd grabbed a few of the blankets out of the car's boot, chucked a few at his lanky passenger, and wrapped himself up in the back seat, with Rick sat up in the passenger seat. Stan sighed for the umpteenth time that day, life was weird sometimes.

'H-hey partner, you -urp- you alright back there?' Ricks face, haloed by his ridiculous hair poked over the seat back.

'Huh, oh, yeah buddy, I'm pretty good back here,' Stan smiled blearily up at him, neck straining without any support.

'W-wanna drink?' he pulled out a flask from Christ-knows where and brandished it at Stan, 'it's not great, but -urp- it's better, better than nothing y'know?'

'Sure pal, I'll have a bit,' the brown-haired man reached up to grab the hip-flask.

'Uh-uh-uh cutie-pie, I -urp- I pr-propose a game in _exchange_ for this totally -urp- fuckin' average alcohol.'

Another sigh wormed its way out of Stan's mouth, 'Okay Sanchez, what're you thinking?'

Rick laughed at this, throwing his head back and giving Stan a clearer view of the thick, black strip of leather encircling the lanky idiot's throat. He gulped, it had a fucking O-ring at the front, he'd barely even registered _that_ particular detail. The taller man leered down at Stan, eyes blurry with, well, with _something._

'Okay-dokay -urp- big guy,' he hadn't broken eye contact since he'd looked back down and Stan's cheeks were flaring up red again. 'Here's -urp- here's what we're gonna do: chicken!'

The last word was yelled so loudly Stan flinched backwards and his eyes shut reflexively. Was this lunatic serious?

'D-damn -urp- damn right I'm serious pal!'

Since when had Stan started thinking out loud so much? He rubbed his eyes and sat up, stretching his back with a crack as he did, 'Okay pal, what're we doing?'.

'Ch-chi-chicken! I-I -urp- I already said that jackass, keep up,' Rick started clambering into the back seat, skinny arms and legs flying in every direction as he (semi-accidentally) rubbed up against Stan in an attempt to sit comfortably. Shit the guy was cute. Cute and-so far-up for anything, just how Rick liked them. He ran his eyes over the shorter man, taking in the thick, dark hair curling through his indecently open-necked shirt, and the pink flush that was covering his thickset jaw and rounded cheeks. This was going to be fun. 

Stan's voice cut through his reverie.

'Yeah dickhead I heard that, but when I was a kid there was a whole bunch of different chicken games, cars, sea, cliffs, all kinds of dumb shit', sleep was starting to look preferable to some ridiculous kid's game with a crazed alcoholic.

Rick chuckled again, leaning close to Stan, 'You ever -urp- t-t-try the better kinds of dumb chicken shit,' he smirked as Stan's blush became even more visible in the moonlight.

Now Stan was not a shy guy, far from it if he was honest, and was always up for flirting and screwing around with whatever girl was nearest to him. Emphasis on the _girl_ part of that sentence. Guys were a whole different matter, he was pretty sure that he like them just as well as girls, but he still hadn't figured out how to be his usual suave, confident self when it came down to it. And he wasn't counting the few times he'd fooled around with guys as high-quality flirting experience. Shit was he unprepared for this. 

 

 

 


	4. In Which Shit Gets Racy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn! More or less!

'Hey! H-hey E-Earth to Pines!! -urp-'. Rick was prodding him in the arm and grinning like a maniac.

'Yeah buddy what is it?' Stan's mouth was drying out pretty fast as Rick moved closer.

'You -urp- you ever play the fun, the f-f-fun kind of chicken?', he was moving even closer now, 'I'l -urp- I'll show you how it goes if you like, ye -urp- yeah?'

Oh jeez. Stan was pretty sure he was blushing from his ears to his toes now, his whole body was hot as Rick reached over to his left knee and lay his hand there. Okay, Stan was pretty much vibrating now, eyes darting to Rick's hand, to his face, to his long,  _long_   legs, which were spread far enough apart that their right and left knees were touching. He twitched as Rick started to move his hand slowly and surely up the inside of his thigh, dark eyes fixed firmly on Stan's lobster-red face.

Rick was buzzing now, he leaned into Stan, keeping his hand moving firmly in the direction of the other man's crotch. And there it was, he rested his hand in the shorter man's lap and leaned even closer, he could smell the cigarette smoke on Stan's breath as their lips pressed together. Oh this was good, within a matter of seconds Stan's original bashfulness had melted away as he grabbed at the thinner man's shoulders, pulling until Rick was firmly planted in his lap, grinning down as he painstakingly removed his jacket and t-shirt, revealing an almost painfully thin, reflectively pale torso, contrasting drastically with his tanned hands.

Both men were breathing heavily as their lips collided again, tongues and teeth clashing as Rick's hands roamed over Stan's back and shoulders.

'Y-y-you know what's wrong with -urp- with this picture cutie?', he broke the kiss and stared sternly down at Stan, who was looking decidedly ruffled and confused.

'W-what the fuck are you on about Sanchez?', he was not pleased that his efforts to count the other man's teeth with his tongue were bring interrupted.

'Y-you're wearing too many clothes.'

Stan was going to kill him.

He smirked up at the inventor, 'Well, whatcha gonna do about it, _cutie_?.'


End file.
